Out
I stare into the azure sky. The late afternoon sun throws its heat on my face as I gaze at the wispy clouds gathering towards the west. I inhale the fresh air and it cools my burning lungs. The rusty dust from the cement room coats my tongue and throat. My wrists are still caked with soap and raw from the binding steel of the manacles. I want nothing more than to just leap out of the busted bay window and fly off into the sunset. I snap back to reality and step away from the crumbling concrete. I tilt my head over the edge and stare down at the pile of gravel two stories below. Ugh. I need to get out of here.
I take another step back from the window and glance at either end of the cement block hallway. None of my prison comrades are anywhere to be seen; however, there is some noise coming from the north end of the hallway. I heard some talk earlier about stealing a uniform from a guard, but I booked it before any of that crap happened. This window is probably the way to go and I’m not dicking around with uniforms. I head back into the supply closet that we broke into after our escape. The black paint on the steel shelves has chipped away and showered over the ratty bed sheets, making them look infested with some sort of parasite. I grab a sheet and the flakes fall to the floor. The scent of old metal and rust fills my nose yet again and I feel some of the particles enter my mouth. A hacking cough threatens to explode from my lungs, so I press the old blanket to my mouth to stifle the noise. I allow myself only a couple short coughs and I listen. Hearing nothing, I remove the blanket from my mouth and I tug on the material, testing its strength. The cotton is old, yet intact. I pull a pile of the sheets on the ground and begin tying them together.
While I am creating my makeshift rope, one of the other prisoners breezes in. She is slight on her feet and I don’t even notice her until she squats down on the other side of the pile of blankets. Wordlessly, she begins tying the sheets together as well. As we work, I glance up at my new-found partner. Her long coffee colored hair is tied behind her head and her attractive face is in a grimace as she pulls the knots tight. I wonder why someone like her was traveling alone to begin with, and what she had done to piss off the Waltzers. It’s probably best if I don’t know. I mentally shrug and go back to my work.
After several blankets have been tied together with what I hope are tight knots, the rope is finished. My partner gathers it up in her arms and I lead the way to the window. Just as we make our way across the cold floor to the window, one of the other prisoners lumbers over to us. This one introduced herself as Jocelyn before we escaped from our cell. I nod and she nods back. She pulls an end of the rope from my partner’s arms and ties it to a piece of exposed rebar structuring in the wall next to the gaping window. Her knot looks pretty solid, and judging by the size of her bicep, it probably is. We all begin to size one another up, and I realize that at 5'2'' and 110 pounds, I’m the smallest. I guess that means I’m first. My partner meaningfully looks at the bed sheet rope now dangling over the side of the building. It ends about seven feet up from the rubble, which is probably just enough distance to sprain an ankle. I sigh, and decide to just go for it.
I crouch down with my back facing the open sky. I grasp the first sheet in both of my hands and wiggle towards the edge. My booted feet find their way over and I press them against the side of the stone building. There are plenty of cracks and crevices to aid me in my descent. My hands make it over the first knot—I am now dangling over the side of the building, two stories up. I look at my fellow prisoners, watching me intently. I give them a sly smile that I’m sure looks more like a scowl. My hands slide slowly down the cotton as my feet plant themselves from crack to crack. My mind is surprisingly empty. I was expecting my life to flash before my eyes or something, but there is only the yellow stone of the building in front of me. My hands and feet have grown minds of their own as they continue their tasks. I try not to think about what would happen if I let go. For some reason, I get a crazy urge to do so. An errant thought tells my hands to just let go. I make myself keep holding on—I wouldn’t die of a fall from this height anyway.
My awkward shimmy down the rope continues. I haven’t looked up at my compatriots again, but I’m sure they’re still there. In fact, something tells me the two men have joined them as well. I chuckle to myself, remembering their ridiculous plan to put guard uniforms on. But then again, I am the one that decided to free climb over the side of a building. Eh, you do what you gotta do. I suddenly realize I am on the last sheet of the rope. My hands grip the final knot that my partner made. My feet hang about two feet off the ground. I let go, hitting the gravel at an uncomfortable angle. I fall back and land on my ass. So graceful. I collect myself and stand up. I shield my eyes from the dying sun’s rays and look up at the still-imprisoned. “Well,” I shout up at them. “Who’s next?”
I stare into the azure sky. The late afternoon sun throws its heat on my face as I gaze at the wispy clouds gathering towards the west. I inhale the fresh air and it cools my burning lungs. The rusty dust from the cement room coats my tongue and throat. My wrists are still caked with soap and raw from the binding steel of the manacles. I want nothing more than to just leap out of the busted bay window and fly off into the sunset. I snap back to reality and step away from the crumbling concrete. I tilt my head over the edge and stare down at the pile of gravel two stories below. Ugh. I need to get out of here.
I take another step back from the window and glance at either end of the cement block hallway. None of my prison comrades are anywhere to be seen; however, there is some noise coming from the north end of the hallway. I heard some talk earlier about stealing a uniform from a guard, but I booked it before any of that crap happened. This window is probably the way to go and I’m not dicking around with uniforms. I head back into the supply closet that we broke into after our escape. The black paint on the steel shelves has chipped away and showered over the ratty bed sheets, making them look infested with some sort of parasite. I grab a sheet and the flakes fall to the floor. The scent of old metal and rust fills my nose yet again and I feel some of the particles enter my mouth. A hacking cough threatens to explode from my lungs, so I press the old blanket to my mouth to stifle the noise. I allow myself only a couple short coughs and I listen. Hearing nothing, I remove the blanket from my mouth and I tug on the material, testing its strength. The cotton is old, yet intact. I pull a pile of the sheets on the ground and begin tying them together.
While I am creating my makeshift rope, one of the other prisoners breezes in. She is slight on her feet and I don’t even notice her until she squats down on the other side of the pile of blankets. Wordlessly, she begins tying the sheets together as well. As we work, I glance up at my new-found partner. Her long coffee colored hair is tied behind her head and her attractive face is in a grimace as she pulls the knots tight. I wonder why someone like her was traveling alone to begin with, and what she had done to piss off the Waltzers. It’s probably best if I don’t know. I mentally shrug and go back to my work.
After several blankets have been tied together with what I hope are tight knots, the rope is finished. My partner gathers it up in her arms and I lead the way to the window. Just as we make our way across the cold floor to the window, one of the other prisoners lumbers over to us. This one introduced herself as Jocelyn before we escaped from our cell. I nod and she nods back. She pulls an end of the rope from my partner’s arms and ties it to a piece of exposed rebar structuring in the wall next to the gaping window. Her knot looks pretty solid, and judging by the size of her bicep, it probably is. We all begin to size one another up, and I realize that at 5'2'' and 110 pounds, I’m the smallest. I guess that means I’m first. My partner meaningfully looks at the bed sheet rope now dangling over the side of the building. It ends about seven feet up from the rubble, which is probably just enough distance to sprain an ankle. I sigh, and decide to just go for it.
I crouch down with my back facing the open sky. I grasp the first sheet in both of my hands and wiggle towards the edge. My booted feet find their way over and I press them against the side of the stone building. There are plenty of cracks and crevices to aid me in my descent. My hands make it over the first knot—I am now dangling over the side of the building, two stories up. I look at my fellow prisoners, watching me intently. I give them a sly smile that I’m sure looks more like a scowl. My hands slide slowly down the cotton as my feet plant themselves from crack to crack. My mind is surprisingly empty. I was expecting my life to flash before my eyes or something, but there is only the yellow stone of the building in front of me. My hands and feet have grown minds of their own as they continue their tasks. I try not to think about what would happen if I let go. For some reason, I get a crazy urge to do so. An errant thought tells my hands to just let go. I make myself keep holding on—I wouldn’t die of a fall from this height anyway.
My awkward shimmy down the rope continues. I haven’t looked up at my compatriots again, but I’m sure they’re still there. In fact, something tells me the two men have joined them as well. I chuckle to myself, remembering their ridiculous plan to put guard uniforms on. But then again, I am the one that decided to free climb over the side of a building. Eh, you do what you gotta do. I suddenly realize I am on the last sheet of the rope. My hands grip the final knot that my partner made. My feet hang about two feet off the ground. I let go, hitting the gravel at an uncomfortable angle. I fall back and land on my ass. So graceful. I collect myself and stand up. I shield my eyes from the dying sun’s rays and look up at the still-imprisoned. “Well,” I shout up at them. “Who’s next?”